


You killed me

by rakscha



Category: Hannibal (TV), In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakscha/pseuds/rakscha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'In the Flesh' fusion in 'Hannibal' world. Short one, inspired by gifs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You killed me

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Вы убили меня](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120352) by [rakscha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakscha/pseuds/rakscha). 



> IDK people, I just translated my own fic.  
> So. English is not my first language and I apologize for all the mistakes.  
> And here they are the amazing inspirational [gifs.](http://vi0letharmon.tumblr.com/post/87408146424/hannibal-in-the-flesh-au-will-comes-back-from)

After The Rising, as he learned later, Will had hunted in Maryland for two years before 'Halperin & Weston' caught him. 

The company is really fast becoming international and just few months in all that government rehabilitation bullshit Baltimore has his own treatment center. Later Will even finds it ironic, what he is again in Baltimore and again is locked up in something that is not quite a jail. 

So the first thing that happens is him reacting to neurotripteline, and it's bringing back his humanity just like he wasn't dead. Than with the start of brain cells regeneration his memories are back. And with every new week in the treatment center his empathy is coming back too. What in the case of zombies, precise Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers, becomes a curse far worse than before.

Sometimes he is stuck in his memories about hunting. Feels himself empty of every emotion except overpowering hunger. He tears terrified people to shreds again and again trying to draw out their brains. And to reach that feeling of satiation and temporal calmness, when he succeeds. He can get this dreams not just from his own memory but looking at people too. He hates it.

As expected Will learns affirmations. By the clock goes with everyone in the center to take his injection. Goes to group therapy, where he's almost always silent. Will could lead these sessions if desired. And in general the therapy is too reminiscent of the cause of his death.

And yet exactly the thoughts of his own death and his gift help Will to become one of the first patients that are released from Baltimore PDS Treatment Center. Nothing is just that simple.

Will has left no relatives alive, so he is really surprised coming out of his room, skin almost orange in the make-up, to see Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom. Jack tries to keep a calm face, but Will sees there an echo of hope and joy and guilt. Alana on the contrary is openly crying.

Will awkwardly comes to them, holding the bag with the clothes he wore the night he'd rised. The only thing he wants is to be out of Baltimore.

***

Finally alone at home Will for the long time just enjoys the silence. The center was never quiet, even at night, though none of the patients were actually breathing and no one had a beating heart. He removes the make-up and contact lenses. He has no one to portray the living person for. He had already came to terms with his physical appearance. Deathly pale skin and colourless eyes are true from which he cannot escape.

Before leaving, Jack clumsily makes him an injection. Will does not ask about his dogs. Jack and Alana don't say anything.

***

They give him only one day to rest. Early in the morning there is car on his driveway to take him to the FBI headquarters. From the window of the car he can watch as the landscape is changing. Close to the city he starts to see range of graffiti and posters praising the Human Volunteer Forces that fought the rabids and politicians promoting laws against PDS sufferers and the Undead Liberation Army slogans. Everything is mixed in unintelligible stream of letters and colours.

Upon entering the Bureau building Graham sees dozens of hate looks addressed to him. He is not wearing make-up. He is not trying to pretend. How he had not tried ever. The agent that accompanies him does not allow anyone to approach him. But he still hears a "fucking rotters" here and there. Going up to Jack's office he meets several PDS sufferers in make-up performing the work of cleaners. There are no living among them. It is humiliating.

***

In Jack's office there is Alana with him again. When Will comes through the doors both are trying to maintain a friendly facial expressions. Graham is just looking at them. Jack clears his throat releasing the escort agent.

"Will, I hope, you understand that you have been released under the FBI responsibility. And for all employees with Partially Deceased Syndrome there is a statement on which they have to wear make-up and lenses."

"So now I'm the FBI property, Jack?"

Alana, trying not to look at him, starts to explain that not everything is as it seems and they are all trying for Will.

"We need to assess your psychological state and find out how soon you will be able to get back to work."

"Property with the duty to work for their masters. Sounds very familiar."

Jack ignores him.

"Dr. Lecter kindly volunteered to assess your state and as a former doctor to do your neurotripteline injections in the future.

Not a muscle twitches in Graham's face. Alana's face takes on a soft expression that is mixed with guilt and bitterness.

"Hannibal was very helpful when we... we buried you. Unfortunately, we failed to find the person who killed you."

Then Jack, like a hawk aimed to kill, turns to Will.

"Did you find him, Will? Learned who the Chesapeake Ripper is?"

But again he only catches colourless gaze in response. Will doesn't need more to hide his eyes. Now people themselves do not want to look him in the eye.

"I remember almost nothing about it," answers Will.

***

It's like nothing has changed, and there wasn't these two and a half years. At 19.30 exactly Hannibal Lecter opens the door to his waiting room. And Will Graham is standing at the door like he belongs there. He wears a fashionable coat, hair neatly arranged. His face is pale with blue veins, and the eyes are white on white. He comes into the room with the words, "Hello, Dr. Lecter" and goes to his usual chair. Hannibal sits relaxed in his own, watching the man with interest. They silently sit opposite each other, getting used to each other again.

"You killed me," says Will, adapting old rules to a new game.

"I had no choice", briefly meets Hannibal.

"Apparently it was a good year for you, since you are still in Baltimore," Hannibal raises an eyebrow questioningly. And Will gladly elaborates. "Am I the only one from the Risen, who can remember how you had killed him?"

"Death has made you fairly straightforward and rude, Will."

"You know yourself how the death supplements people", smiles Will. And at his new face it looks like the smile of a predator. Hannibal likes it. It's like his own smile.

"Me and you, Will. Interesting to hear this from the lips," Hannibal glances at the folder lying on the coffee table than at Will himself, "of man, who tried examine death to taste for two years."

The same room, the same pair, psychiatrist and his patient. All those verbal duels which both had missed. Not even death could stop this game. It begins again.


End file.
